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Who's your favorite author?

I have a hard time choosing between Fitzgerald and Hemingway. They're both amazing but have completely different styles and write about different things. I like the fact that they wrote at the same time and were friends. If I had to pick between the two I'd say, Fitzgerald.

My three favorite books by Fitzgerald are; This Side of Paradise (my favorite), The Beautiful and Damned, and The Great Gatsby.

My three favorite books from Hemingway are; The Old Man and the Sea, The Sun Also Rises, and For Whom the Bell Tolls.

I'm such a dorky reader... I tend to not remember fiction very well (even though I agree that Hemingway leaves an indelible mark and is unforgettable). I read so much non-fiction (history) that sticks in my mind though... unfortunately, the job, kids, school, etc... have made reading a missed but abandoned part of my life... i went from reading 50ish books a year to around 10 since 2005...

"We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give."

Hemmingway. I skew towards American authors, but at the same time I find Fitzgerald to be self consumed and tiresome to read. He just wears me out. He's like Clancy in that way. It's just ****ing exausting to read Clancy. Hemmingway is very earthy and real.

I will say I also enjoy Douglas Adams

O. Henry keeps a place in my heart;For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone. But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!" And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!" Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit. "Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it." Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled. "Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."